Sam Rice's thoughts were a highly charged tangle of confusion for the rest of the day. Images of what he could have done, should have done, with the eighteen year old slave boy James tumbled through his mind. He ate his dinner quietly with his brother and mother, neither of whom seemed to have heard of his adventures that day. In the evening he took a horseback ride through the plantation, looking for James, but did not see him. Every other slave boy eighteen or under, he eyed hungrily, fantasy and expectation welling within him.
That night he willed himself to go to sleep despite his raging erection, and similarly the next morning he ignored the evidence of his sexual excitement; he knew he would need his sexual potency to continue taking up the droigt du seigneur. Again that morning, now with his older brother, he took a horseback tour of the plantation, ostensibly to oversee its operations (the Rice family had never believed in hiring a white overseer). This time Sam DID see James, at work carrying some farm implements from one building to another. James flashed a quick look of awareness that he was being watched in the direction of the young white master, but went about his business. Sam did not pursue the matter. He had made a resolution: go through the whole list of black slave boys from eighteen down, then when he was finished go back and use his favorite ones again.
After lunch he summoned the butler and major domo, Hannibal, to the study where he was consulting his list of slave boys. Second on the list of the three eighteen year olds was a slave named Oscar. Sam was pretty sure that Oscar, like James, worked in the tobacco fields and around the plantation generally. As before, Sam instructed Hannibal to have Oscar washed and brought to his room upstairs. Was Hannibal's agreement to this charge a little more carefully neutral than the day before? Was there something in his blank expression and plain acceptance of the instructions? Sam did not know; how much had James said, and had word of what he was doing spread among the slaves?
That afternoon Sam waited nervously in his room, looking out the window toward the wash house where he knew Oscar would be taken to be bathed. Coming around the corner of an outbuilding he saw three figures: Hannibal, Oscar...and James! James stayed behind, watching, as Hannibal conducted Oscar to the wash room and waited outside for the slave boy to bathe himself. So the story was out; if James was telling what had happened, soon word would be out among all the slaves. Sam didn't care. He watched as Hannibal waited, then escorted the freshly scrubbed Oscar toward the house.
Nearly breathless, Sam stood in the middle of the room, waiting for the respectful knock. It came, and Hannibal entered with Oscar. "This is Oscar, Master," said the butler, then without looking at either the white or the black boy, he bowed himself out of the room.
Oscar was a little shorter than James, a little more solidly built. Not fat by any means, but solid. He hung his head and said nothing. Did Sam detect a sullen expression on his face? No matter. "Remove your clothing," he told the boy. Slowly, clearly unwilling, Oscar did so, dropping his shirt and pants to the floor. A man's muscular development was revealed beneath his very dark skin. Thick pads of muscles on his chest around purple black nipples descended down through a clearly defined abdomen, past a thick bush of tightly kinked black pubic hair that made a triangle above a thick, flaccid penis of average length for a black, and then two heavy balls in their sack below. The slave boy's face was definitely African, a broad nose above two very thick, very broad lips, and a tight cap of black wool on his head. Beads of water from the bath glinted on his skin and in his hair.
"Turn around," instructed Sam. Oscar did so, his eyes averted down, his sullen look not diminishing. As Sam drank in the muscular shoulders and back, the round hills of muscles down his arm, the narrow valley of the spine and then the typical African bottom, tight, rolling back and upward a little, more upward than James; one could almost balance a pencil on top of them, buttocks making a tight crack guarding what Sam knew was a wrinkled anus within. Sam slipped off his own clothing quickly, his rose pink cock as hard as a flagpole, sticking out at an upward angle from his fourteen year old body. Sam stepped over to the foot of the bed.
"Come stand here," he instructed Oscar, pointing to the space between himself and the bed. The slave boy turned and startled to see his young master naked. Oscar hesitated. "Why you doin' this, Massa?" he mumbled, still not moving. Sam thought for a moment, then decided it might be best for him to reveal his plan, which he knew would get back to the other slaves.
"You know how my father, and now my brother, take the slave wenches when they are young...the first time for many of them? The droigt du seigneur?" Sam asked. Oscar nodded slowly, not looking the white boy in the eye, but the wheels of thought plainly visible on his face. "Well, I am doing that for the black boys. Starting with those who have eighteen summers, working my way down. As you know, you are the second," he said. Oscar still stood where he was. "Now come immediately and stand here," said Sam, pointing to the space between himself and the bed. Oscar shuffled into place, aversion evident in his whole expression.
Sam stepped up close to the black boy and putting his arms around the boy's hips pulled their groins together, his rusty red erection pressing up between their abdomens, the black boy's penis still flaccid and hanging down. "No, Massa, I ain' like this, naw suh," groaned Oscar. It was a pivotal moment. Had Sam relented, he realized in a flash, that was an end to his project. And after all, how many nervous young black girls had made the same plea to his father and brother, with no success. Sam stepped back one step and slapped the eighteen year old slave hard across his face, once. Oscar's head turned and Sam saw his jaw tighten, his fists clench. It was a pivotal moment for Oscar also. If he fought back, even if he continued to refuse, he knew it would not go well for him. But that realization warred with the anger within him. A moment passed and then he hissed out, between clenched teeth, "yessuh, Massa."
Sam closed on him again, grinding his erection into the muscular abdomen, pulling the slave boy into him by reaching around and grasping his muscular buttocks, his back. Oscar continued standing there, his head turned, his hands curled into fists, not responding in kind but not refusing the young master's advances. Now Sam pulled himself against the whole torso of the black boy, cream colored skin rubbing against deep chocolate. With his hands he grasped the slave boy's head and turned it, then kissed the full, wide lips. Oscar breathed in a gasp through his nose and closed his eyes, but did not refuse it. Nor did he reciprocate his young master's taking one full lip and then another between his own, the thrusting of the white boy's tongue past the lips and against the clenched teeth.
Sam could have wished for a more willing partner, but it was plain that Oscar was NOT willing, and quickly the attraction of mastery rather than seduction overcame him. He WOULD take his pleasure with this black body whether Oscar willed it or not. Sam ground against him for a while and then, following some ideas he had formed in his neverending fantasies since yesterday, instructed Oscar to crawl on the bed and lie on his back. Still showing evident distaste, the black boy did so, lying like a board, his penis still flaccid and lying across one leg.
Sam immediately climbed onto the bed and kneeling over the black slave boy's legs, took the flaccid penis in his hand. Oscar winced and sighed. Sam began manipulating it, rubbing the top of the knob, rubbing the tender skin beneath, skinning it back completely. Despite himself, Oscar's penis began to grow, and by the time Sam had fondled it into a half erection, Oscar again blurted out a "please, Massa, no." Ignoring the slave boy, Sam gathered his courage and crouching lower, took the top third of the stiffening black rod into his mouth and began to suck. "No, Massa, please," cried Oscar. Bounding up from his position, Sam slapped the slave boy again, twice now across the face. Oscar turned his head to the side. Sam could see tears springing from beneath the closed lids. Sam immediately dropped back down and began sucking and pumping the midnight black rod which was now stiffening into a full erection.
Oscar lay still but small gasps and groans escaped him as his young white master pumped and sucked him. Sam was in a full passion now, half his own sexual excitement and half a fury at being refused by this slave boy who was his property. Inexpertly but with a violent will, crouching over the black slave's loins, Sam sucked and pumped, sucked and pumped. It took a while, but nature overcame Oscar's unwillingness and with something between a sob and a groan the slave boy came, thrusting his pelvis up in spite of himself. Sam had never taken anyone's semen in his mouth but he was determined to go through with his plan and he pumped and swallowed for all he was worth, tasting the pungent salty white liquid as it boiled out of the slave boy's body. As Oscar completed the ejaculation his body shivered involuntarily and Sam made sure it was sucked clean.
Then the white boy pushed himself upward and on top of the dark chocolate body, thrusting his dripping hard penis between the slave boy's legs and pumping for a few minutes as if the boy were a woman, were Aunt Sally, his hands grasping the slave's muscular shoulders tightly, his lips roaming the neck and jaw of the boy who still held his head to the side, tears still rolling from his closed eyes. Feeling a crisis not far off, Sam pushed himself forward again, jamming his knees into the small patches of peppercorn hair in the slave boy's armpits, and with his hands turning the slave boy's head straight towards him. Sam slapped the slave's thick wide lips once with his dripping penis and commanded "Open!" This time, his eyes still clenched tight, Oscar obeyed. The slave boy gagged a bit as Sam plunged his erection into the mouth and, bracing his hands against the headboard, leaned over the slave boy's head and began pumping himself in and out of the mouth. It was not long before a wave of ecstasy crept over the white master and feeling the first tide of semen rolling up out of his loins he shouted to Oscar, "Swallow!" Then he erupted, still pumping jerkily, into the slave boy's mouth—but without hearing any swallowing. Reaching down with one hand, Sam squeezed the boy's broad chocolate nose shut with his fingers and shouted again, "Swallow!" Now Oscar had no choice and, choking a bit, began swallowing. Sam bucked and pumped twice more, then held his position, shivering, as the last of his semen ran down and into the slave boy's mouth, the sounds of swallowing mingling with moans and whimpers from Oscar.
His passion spent, Sam crawled from the bed and took in the image of the slave's strong young body lying on the bed, the now flaccid penis oozing a trail of clear fluid onto the dark brown thigh. "Get up," he commanded, and Oscar, avoiding eye contact, did so. Sam took half a step to the side to regard the firm dark buttocks, and then slapped them twice. Oscar winced but did not respond in any other way. He knew he was beaten. "Now get dressed," Sam commanded him. He watched the slave boy dress, quickly, and then commanded him to leave. Muttering a "yessuh, Massa," Oscar did so, closing the door behind him. Sam, still breathing a little heavily but flushed with success, cleaned and clothed himself and then lay down for a nap on the bed still warm from his passion.
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